by Jo Noelle
Chapter 11
Jenna Brennan
After we get back to the cottages, I pull out my phone. Mom’s been trying to call me for the past hour—every ten minutes. What she lacks in wanting to keep in touch, she makes up for with impatience.
I should call her back. Do I want to do this now? I don’t think I’ve ever had a positive conversation with her. My chest constricts with guilt. I’m supposed to have caring, or at least sentimental, feelings about my mother. Disappointment over the years has replaced those with dread.
Mom called several times. It might be urgent. I pick up my phone and push the icon for recent calls, her name at the top of the list. The nagging question pops up, though—what does she want now?
I hold the phone between both hands and lean back against my headboard. This shouldn’t be such a hard decision. The minutes tick by as I consider what to say to her. I guess you can love someone but not want them to poison your life anymore. That’s where I am.
I’m old enough to decide what or who I’ll let in and when, what I’m able to invest in emotionally. If I call her, will I be able to balance the needs I have for connecting with her and for protecting myself from her?
Since hearing Cole’s story about taking care of his mom, I’ve realized that I need a little closure too. Not that I won’t get to hear from her or see her again, just that I need the chance to put the hurt and bad memories behind me. I can’t move forward in my life, especially into a committed relationship, feeling like this.
Cole. We’re so good together. My heart swells, thinking about waking up to his butterscotch-colored eyes, his lips brushing against mine. Our years could be filled with working and playing together. I want to be his every day. I want to see our baby in his strong hands—he’ll be an amazing dad.
These feeling have always been inside me, just under the surface. I’ve refused to examine them very closely—afraid of the hurt that always comes with accepting new people into my life. In fact, I’ve pushed those feelings aside, stomped on them, and buried them beneath an emotional mountain. Do my dreams match his? I hope so.
I take a deep breath through my nose and blow it out slowly past my lips. It’s time to grow up into the person I want to be, who can have the future I thought would never be mine.
Crossing my legs, I sit in the middle of the mattress and press Mom’s phone number. It rings several times. She might not even answer—all my stress wasted.
Without saying hello, she says, “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.”
I can feel the hair on the back of my neck rise a little, but close my eyes and concentrate on controlling myself. I’m choosing my own future now. “It’s so good to hear from you, Mom. Why did you call?”
“I sent your clothes. Did you get them? You didn’t call to say you did.” Mom’s tone is clipped on each sentence.
“Yes, I got the boxes.” My first instinct is to snap at her for being so thoughtless. Don’t. “I appreciate you thinking about me.”
“I’m moving to Belize, and I’m clearing out the house before I go.”
“You mentioned that before I left Alaska. I googled some pictures of the island. It looks beautiful.”
“Well, it probably is—I don’t know. But I need to get rid of your bed and dresser. Do you want them?”
Do I? It might be the only thing I have as a remembrance of my childhood home.
Before I make a decision, she adds, “You won’t be able to get a bedroom set this cheap anywhere. I’ll sell them to you for six hundred dollars.”
Ugh. I don’t think I want that memory. “No, thanks.” This is harder than I thought it would be. I tell myself she doesn’t try to hurt me, even though she does. It’s just a habit of hers, and I don’t have to keep the hurt feelings.
“I’m still selling them and everything else, so don’t think you can come home while I’m gone. I’ll be renting this place.”
What she doesn’t know, and I don’t say, is that I’m already home.
“That’s a good idea, Mom.”
“When are you leaving for Idaho?”
“I’m not.”
“Why not? You’re not mixed up with some boy, are you? Is Cole still living there? You always talked about him.”
There’s no way I want to talk to her about this. Protective feelings emerge that I never knew were there.
She continues. “Men just mess your life up. You don’t need that.”
This is about the time my brain thinks up cutting remarks about how she’s always looking for the next man and that she messes up their lives. Old habits die hard.
Even if this were the right time to tell her how I feel about Cole, she wouldn’t understand what I want because she hasn’t had that yet.
I want one special man to love and hold for a lifetime, to grow together, and to grow old beside me. I want a happily ever after.
Her tirade isn’t finished yet. “Love doesn’t exist. Even when you think you’ve found it, it fades quickly, and soon you’ll be looking for a way out.”
That doesn’t discourage me with Cole. If love fades, we’ll plant new seeds and grow it all over again. We’ve learned how to do that this summer. Cole might have known how for years, but I’m learning from him. “I’m sorry you’ve been disappointed, Mom. I hope you’ll be very happy with Tom.”
“Well, I don’t want to die alone, so there’s that. I suppose, he’s as fine as the next.”
I’ve reached my limit for today. I’ll talk to her later and try again. Little bits of positive will change our relationship—at least that’s what I tell myself.
“Good luck with the move. Bye, Mom. I love you.” I find that I really mean it.
“Bye,” she says.
As I disconnect the call, I slump back on my pillow. She doesn’t have to be Mom of the Year for me to love her. I can love her for all the things she is instead of all the things she isn’t. I can choose to love.
The tense feeling I had in my chest from dreading the conversation with Mom is gone, replaced by satisfaction. The phone call wasn’t completely terrible. It was tons better than usual, mostly because I didn’t play by the same rules. This could work. It’s a first step—it will get better over time.
This summer, I thought I was coming to Washington for Walter. Instead, I’m the one who’s getting helped.
